Huntress
by Nintendian
Summary: In another world, she is a champion. - Clove


**disclaimer & stuff:**_ I don't own The Hunger Games. Anyway, __Clove is definitely my favee character. There's a bunch of Clove-centric fics out there, but i just felt like writing one! Hope you enjoy it! _

** warning:**_ blood and character deaths (and other violent stuff) because she has slight mental problems._

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**huntress**

_in another world, she is a champion._

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She laughs as soon as the first knife leaves her hand, whizzing through the air.

She's going to kill Katniss Everdeen. Girl on fire? Yeah, right. Clove is going to throw water on the flames and watch them die in the dust, thoroughly beaten to death. If Katniss is fire, Clove is icy cold water, born to quench fire. Or she can be the earth. Whatever it takes to put out the blaze.

She was born to kill.

Of course, it's not like she's _jealous _or anything. She'll kill each and every one of the remaining victors, even Cato if she has to. They're all just bothersome obstacles in the way of her ultimate destiny, becoming champion of the Games. Because when it all comes down to it, alliances are nothing. Friendship doesn't mean anything to her. Somewhere, in the recesses of her mind, she_ herself_ even knows she doesn't have a heart. She never did. God forgot to give her one.

Instead, she's a cold, ruthless monster who loves the sight of bright crimson blood.

But no, she's not insane. Not at all.

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And now her chance is here, it's _finally here_.

The girl with the knives runs, pounding across the battlefield, eyes intent and focused on her target, her prey. _You're going down, 12._ Fingers grip a knife hilt, slipped into her hands as quickly as a snake strikes. She knows here in the open, she's just as vulnerable as her victims, but the thought is liberating.

Clove covers the remaining yards in seconds, because despite her size, she's as quick as a cobra to make up for her lack of height. She's younger than most of the others too, but far more clever and cunning than any of the other Careers.

She lands on Katniss Everdeen's back, bringing her down hard. The other girl tries to twist out of her grasp, but years of training have given Clove power and muscle. She holds 12 down by the hair and leans close to sneer in the girl's face, which is bloody from the knife wound in her forehead (courtesy of Clove, of course).

_Girl on fire? Ha, you're dead._

She will savor Everdeen's death, give her a slow and painful torture. She can already see the blood pouring out of the other girl, spilling out on the ground. Hmm...where should she start? From the inside of her jacket, Clove selects the perfect knife for the occasion, considering. She can slash Everdeen's stomach and watch her guts come out: the corners of her lips twich up into a smirk at this. Or she can cut her lips off, since she no longer needs them to kiss Lover Boy.

Clove laughs, a sadistic snicker.

Somehow, she already knows she is going to win. She'll emerge victor of the 74th Hunger Games, and her name will be whispered everywhere, in awe, in fear. _Clove, Clove..._ The girl can hear it now. She can genuinely hear the screams of pain from the last remaining tributes when she kills them, the blood pounding in her heart when she slays the last tribute with her own hands and her trusty collection of knives, weapons who have never failed her. Blood will be everywhere, on her hands, smeared on her face.

Oh, how she loves the scent, the sight, the sound of gushing blood.

And then she's on her victory tour, the roar of the crowd echoing in her ears. She's voraciously sinking in the praise, hearing her name chanted everywhere, seeing people shrink from her in fear, even. Because she's a bloodthirsty monster, and everyone _should_ be scared of her.

Clove's too lost in her own world to realize that it doesn't exist, that she is living a lie. But then it all comes apart the next moment.

She's roughly torn from her grip on Katniss Everdeen, and dangles in the air three feet from the ground, choked by an iron grip. And as soon as Clove tries to turn, she knows who it is. Her heart sinks.

Thresh.

She doesn't scream, even when he holds the rock above her head and brings it down.

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For a fleeting moment, when she collapses on the ground, eyes blank and blood pounding in her head, she thinks she is dying.

This is not possible. She's Clove, the predator. She can't fall prey to something as stupid as death. It is an absurd thought, implausible, and Clove shakes it off. She's not dying right now. This is only a dream turned into nightmare, and when she wakes up, she'll be somewhere else, in a different world, another life.

But for some reason, she feels like she's drowning in a sea of blood.

_Please, wake me up from this nightmare. _

She begs to no one and everyone, lips soundlessly forming the words. Tears form in her squeezed shut eyes, but she holds them back. She won't cry. She can clench her fists, bite her tongue, conspire sweet revenge all she wants, but she won't cry. Crying is for wimps, and she's a strong girl.

Clove's not scared of death, anyway.

I'm not dying - _I'm not dying -_ **I'm not dying . . .**

She repeats it over and over again in her mind, like a mantra, and wishes it was true.

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_end_

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End file.
